Jacklyn unlocked the bedroom door and dragged Ada out into the expansive second-floor hallway.

They reached the edge of the grand marble staircase. Jacklyn's fingernails dug into Ada's wrist, breaking the skin.

"Jacklyn, stop! You're hurting me!" Ada cried out, trying to pry the woman's fingers off. Her eight-month pregnant body was heavy and clumsy, making it impossible to fight back with any real force.

Downstairs, the heavy, muffled sound of a car engine shutting off echoed through the front doors. Desmond was home.

Jacklyn heard it. The vicious smirk on her face morphed into something entirely unhinged.

She suddenly let go of Ada's wrist.

Jacklyn grabbed her own flat stomach with both hands. She let out a blood-curdling, agonizing scream.

Before Ada could process what was happening, Jacklyn threw her upper body backward.

"No!" Ada's eyes widened in pure terror. She lunged forward, her hand reaching out to grab Jacklyn's dress.

Her fingers closed around empty air.

Jacklyn's body tumbled backward down the long, steep flight of marble stairs. The sickening sound of bone hitting stone echoed through the cavernous foyer.

She hit the bottom and rolled onto the massive Persian rug, coming to a dead stop.

At that exact second, the heavy carved oak front doors pushed open.

Desmond strode into the foyer, bringing the freezing winter air with him. He froze.

Jacklyn lay curled in a fetal position on the floor. A pool of dark red blood was already seeping from between her thighs, staining the expensive rug.

Desmond's head snapped up.

His eyes locked onto Ada, who was standing at the very top of the stairs, her hand still outstretched in the air.

The look in his eyes made Ada's blood turn to ice. It was the look of a man staring at a murderer.

"Desmond, I didn't-" Ada started, her voice shaking violently.

Desmond didn't hear her. He sprinted across the foyer and dropped to his knees beside Jacklyn. He pulled her bleeding body into his arms.

"Desmond," Jacklyn whimpered, her voice weak and trembling. She clutched his lapel. "She pushed me. She wanted to kill our baby."

Ada gripped the wooden banister. She forced her heavy legs to move, slowly descending the stairs. "She's lying! Desmond, it's a trap! She threw herself down!"

"Shut your mouth!" Desmond roared. His voice shook the chandelier above them. "You are just as vicious as you were when you killed Carmen!"

The sheer hatred in his voice felt like a knife twisting in Ada's gut.

Suddenly, a massive, tearing pain ripped through Ada's lower back and abdomen. It was so intense her vision went black for a second.

She doubled over, clutching her stomach, and collapsed onto her knees on the marble steps. Warm fluid gushed down her legs. Her water had broken.

"Desmond," Ada begged, gasping for air as another contraction hit her. "Please. The baby. Help me."

Desmond looked up at her. His face was a mask of absolute, terrifying indifference. He thought she was acting.

He pulled out his phone. He didn't call an ambulance for her. He dialed his private medical team and his lawyers.

"Hold her," Desmond commanded the two massive bodyguards standing by the door. "Do not let her leave this hall."

The bodyguards marched up the stairs. They grabbed Ada's shoulders roughly, pinning her to the freezing marble.

Ada screamed as another contraction tore through her body. She lay in her own amniotic fluid, watching through blurred vision as the private paramedics rushed in.

Desmond picked Jacklyn up in his arms and carried her out the front doors toward the waiting ambulance. He never looked back at Ada.

Ten minutes later, the estate manager walked into the foyer. Two federal police officers flanked him.

One of the officers pulled out a piece of paper. "Ada Thomas, you are under arrest for attempted murder."

The words sounded like they were coming from underwater. The physical pain in Ada's body finally overwhelmed her brain. Her eyes rolled back, and she slumped against the cold stone, losing consciousness completely.

The officers dragged her limp body out into the freezing night, the wail of police sirens cutting through the dark sky.

Three years later.

The heavy iron gates of the Upstate New York Federal Women's Correctional Facility slid open with a deafening, metallic screech.

Ada walked out of the dark concrete tunnel. She wore a cheap, faded gray trench coat that hung loosely on her emaciated frame.

The bright afternoon sunlight hit her face. She flinched, raising her hand to shield her eyes. The back of her hand was covered in raised, purple scars from severe frostbite. She remembered the brutal winter when the guards, bribed by Jacklyn, had stripped her of her coat and locked her in an unheated solitary cell for three days. The agonizing burn of the ice eating into her flesh was a nightmare she would never forget.

She took a deep breath of free air, but the sudden intake of oxygen irritated her lungs, which had been damaged by three years of damp, freezing cells. A violent fit of coughing shook her fragile shoulders.

A black Ford sedan idled by the side of the road. The driver's door opened, and her cousin, Gary Fowler, hurried out.

"Ada," Gary said, his eyes filled with pity. He wrapped his arms around her thin body.

Ada leaned her forehead against his shoulder. It was the first time in three years she had felt human warmth.

Gary took the plastic bag holding her few belongings and opened the passenger door for her.

Ada slid into the seat. The car pulled away, leaving behind the concrete hell that had buried her youth and the memory of the baby they told her was stillborn.

Gary handed her a paper cup of hot coffee from the cup holder, his fingers pressing a small, cheap burner phone into her palm along with it. "Hide this," he whispered quickly, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror. "Use it only when absolutely necessary."

"It's over, Ada. Everything is going to be okay now," Gary continued, his tone shifting back to a comforting pitch. "Although... do you still remember Kael? It's a pity what happened to him after you went inside. He disappeared completely."

Ada's fingers tightened around the phone, slipping it deep into her coat pocket. The mention of Kael sent a dull ache through her chest, a ghost from a past she was too broken to mourn. She held the warm cup with both hands. Her eyes were dead and hollow as she stared at the passing trees. "How is Caleb?" she asked, her voice raspy from disuse, pivoting to the only blood relative she had left.

Gary shifted in his seat, avoiding her eyes. "Your brother is still in the state prison in California. He's... stable."

Before Ada could ask more, the screech of heavy tires ripped through the air.

Three massive, black Cadillac Escalades swerved out from a dirt crossroad. They formed a solid wall of steel across the highway, forcing Gary to slam on the brakes.

The Ford jerked violently. The hot coffee spilled over Ada's hands and her gray coat.

She looked up, her heart suddenly pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.

The door of the center Escalade opened. A polished black leather dress shoe stepped onto the dusty asphalt.

Desmond Ortiz stepped out. He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit, looking like a king descending to inspect a slaughter.

Seeing the face that had haunted her nightmares for a thousand nights, Ada's lungs forgot how to expand. Her entire body began to shake uncontrollably.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" Gary yelled, unbuckling his seatbelt and jumping out of the car.

Desmond didn't even glance at him. He gave a slight nod. Two bodyguards rushed forward, grabbed Gary by the neck, and slammed his face hard against the hood of the Ford.

Desmond walked slowly to the passenger side window. He raised his hand and tapped his knuckles against the glass.

Get out.

Ada bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. She shook her head frantically, pressing her back against the seat.

Desmond's jaw tightened. He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a thick stack of legal documents, and slapped them flat against the glass.

"Gary's company was liquidated yesterday," Desmond's voice was muffled but dangerously clear through the window. "I bought his debt. If you don't step out of this car right now, your cousin is going to federal prison for commercial fraud."

The words hit Ada like a physical blow to the stomach. Her family was already destroyed. She couldn't let Gary go down because of her.

Her psychological defenses crumbled into dust.

With trembling fingers, she pulled the door handle. The door swung open. She stepped out, immediately swallowed by Desmond's tall shadow.

Desmond reached out and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He forced her head up, his dark eyes scanning her hollow cheeks and scarred skin.

"Look at you," he sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. "You look exactly like the trash you are."

He let go of her face. He gestured to his bodyguards.

A hand shoved Ada roughly between the shoulder blades. She stumbled forward and was thrown into the back seat of his waiting Maybach.

The heavy door slammed shut behind her, sealing her fate.

The interior of the Maybach was suffocating. The heavy scent of Desmond's cedar and bergamot cologne filled the enclosed space, making Ada's stomach knot with anxiety.

She pressed her body hard against the leather door panel, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

The car merged smoothly onto the highway. Desmond leaned back against the headrest, his dark eyes watching her with a cold, predatory stillness.

Ada forced herself to breathe. She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and broke the silence.

"I want a divorce," her voice was hoarse, barely more than a rasp.

Desmond let out a low, dark chuckle. It sounded like a threat. "A divorce? You think a convicted felon gets to make demands?"

"I have nothing left," Ada pleaded, her fingernails digging into her own palms. "You took my freedom. You took my baby. Just let me go."

Desmond lunged across the seat. His large hand clamped around her thin wrist, pinning it to the leather seat.

"You don't get to leave," he snarled, his face inches from hers. "You will spend the rest of your miserable life in the shadow of my family, paying for what you did. Until I say you're done."

He threw her hand back at her in disgust.

The car fell into a dead, freezing silence. Thirty minutes later, the Maybach pulled up to the curb on Fifth Avenue, stopping in front of an exclusive, appointment-only luxury department store.

"Take her inside," Desmond ordered his head of security. "Burn those disgusting clothes. Put her in something suitable for the family dinner tonight."

Four massive bodyguards surrounded Ada. They marched her through the glass doors like a prisoner of war.

The store was blindingly bright. Wealthy shoppers stopped and stared at the bruised, emaciated woman being escorted by armed men.

Ada was shoved into a massive VIP fitting room. Two saleswomen nervously wheeled in racks of expensive evening gowns.

Ada stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She stared at her own reflection. Her collarbones jutted out sharply. Her skin was pale and covered in faint bruises. A wave of deep humiliation and burning anger washed over her.

She walked to the fitting room door and opened it a crack. "I need to use the restroom," she told the bodyguard standing outside.

The guard checked the adjacent marble bathroom. There were no windows, only one door. He nodded and let her step inside.

Ada locked the door instantly. She looked up. Above the toilet stalls was a large, industrial air conditioning vent.

She climbed onto the toilet seat, her legs shaking from weakness. She pushed her fingers through the metal grates and shoved upward. The cover popped loose.

Ignoring the sharp pain in her ribs, Ada pulled herself up into the dark, dusty ventilation shaft. The metal scraped against her elbows, tearing the skin, but she didn't stop. She crawled forward on her stomach, coughing silently through the thick dust.

Ten minutes later, the bodyguard kicked the bathroom door open. The room was empty.

Alarms immediately blared through the department store.

Ada dropped out of a vent in the back alley, landing hard on a pile of cardboard boxes. Pain shot up her ankle, but she scrambled to her feet and ran.

She pushed through the crowded Manhattan sidewalks, her heart hammering wildly. She could hear the crackle of security radios and heavy footsteps behind her.

She ducked into a subway station, rushing down the stairs toward the crowded platform. A train was just pulling in, the doors sliding open.

She lunged for the open doors.

A massive, iron-grip hand clamped down on the back of her trench coat collar.

Ada screamed, a raw sound of pure terror. She was jerked backward so hard her feet left the ground.

She spun around and crashed into a solid chest. She looked up into Desmond's eyes. They were pitch black, burning with a murderous rage.

The commuters around them backed away in fear, intimidated by the wall of bodyguards behind him.

Desmond didn't say a word. He bent down, threw Ada over his broad shoulder like a sack of flour, and turned around.

Ada kicked her legs and beat her fists against his back. "Let me go! You monster! Let me go!"

Desmond ignored her completely. He carried her out of the station and threw her violently into the back of the Maybach.

"Back to the manor," Desmond ordered the driver, his voice dripping with venom. "Now."